


An A-Z of Sherlock in Song

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6479482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uhm ... Basically what it says on the tin. A collection of drabbles based on songs beginning with each different letter of the alphabet. Enjoy!! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A forest, the Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I don't own Sherlock. Or the characters or the script of ANYRTHINNGGGG (so cry). The story, however, is mine.

It started with a text. A text to Sherlock, as is what mainly happens, and so of course, we went. Of course we did. The consulting detective and the danger addict. We would.

...Come closer and see  
See into the trees  
Find the girl  
While you can...  
-JM 

Sherlock apparently, had some idea of what the consulting criminal meant. And apparently, he thought it totally unnecessary to notify the police of his whereabouts as we got the first cab possible to Bisham woods and paid the bewildered cabbie extra to drive faster than was strictly allowed, Sherlock stating that he was with the authorities and flashing Lestrade's badge and me just letting him do his thing. Because Sherlock's thing was Sherlock's thing, and there was no point in arguing with him when he was on a case. 

...Come closer and see  
See into the dark  
Just follow your eyes  
Just follow your eyes...  
-JM 

It was massive. A huge tangle of trees' long limbs and swampy green leaves which extinguished any hopes of a glimpse of peeking sunlight which stared down at us as the taxi driver sped off, taking with him any thoughts of my turning back. 

But Sherlock wasn't scared. Of course not. Just me, the wimpy old soldier from Afghanistan. I sighed. I was used to that. 

... I hear her voice  
Calling my name  
The sound is deep  
In the dark...  
-JM 

As we entered, I could feel our shoulders pressing against each other. The leaves seemed to be whispering, pressing down on us.

But we had only got so far when Sherlock spoke. 'We're not going to get anywhere like this.' 

'Like what?' My reply was immediate, and I turned to face him, to see what he meant. His voice was deadly serious, but a smile played on his lips as he spoke, and I wondered whether he genuinely thought what I thought he was implying. 

'The forest is huge, John. She could be anywhere. You're all for saving lives, right, and if either of us gets lost, we have our phones. She's out there, dying John, and here we are, huddled together like two scared ten-year-olds on Halloween. We need to get out of here by nightfall, and we're never going to make it if we walk around the forest like this.' 

I was pretty sure I was gaping. 'Sherlock Holmes, if you think that I am going to wander round this forest like a headless chicken, you are severely mist-'

...I hear her voice...  
-JM 

Sherlock read the text as his phone buzzed, took one last, fleeting look at me, then turned on his heel and ran straight into the trees which swallowed him in their wake. That's it. I was on my own. I was alone. 

I swallowed, looked up to the foliage which hid the daylight, and growled, shifting my weight on my feet, then nodded. I swivelled on the spot before walking into the branches and losing myself in the leaves. 

 

oOo

 

Suddenly I stop.

I know it's too late. 

I'm lost, in a forest, all alone. 

I'm lost, and this time there's no Sherlock, and no map, and no way out. 

I'm lost.

I flip my phone top, but there's no signal. No service.

'Damn.' The curse is born on my throat but dies on my lips and I sigh. 'Damn it.'

But there /is/ a text.

From Sherlock /bloody/ Holmes, of all people.

...The girl was never there  
It's always the same  
We're running towards nothing...  
-SH 

And then I start to sprint. In one direction, following the path, knowing that, at some point, it must lead me out of here, out of this goddamned forest, towards the end, where there's phone signal and civilisation and I can get a can and I can go home.

But then I trip.

And then I know.

I've been going round in circles.

Going round.

Again.

And again.

And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again aND AGAIN AND ...

My breath catches in my throat and I lift the top of my phone.

...Where are you?...  
-SH 

I growl. Where does he think I am?

I tap back a reply.

...No clue...  
-JW

... ...Damn it...  
-SH 

...I know...  
-JW 

And then it hits me. Oh god, I'm /lost/. I'm lost, and Sherlock Holmes is cursing because of it, and I hardly ever hear him curse, and I have no plan B and no plan A and there is no way in hell that I will be able to get myself out of this stupid forest by nightfall and I'll have to climb up a tree like I'm a bloody hunger games tribute.

And damn it, I don't want to climb a tree.

...What happened to the path?...  
-SH 

...WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED TO THE STUPID PATH?! I LOST IT?!?...  
-JW

I sigh.

...sorry. Just ... Find me. Please?...  
-JW

...I'm /trying/...  
-SH 

Well try harder.

Bloody consulting detective.

Just use your superpowers.

God.

 

oOO

 

'I was scared.'

I blinked. Sherlock looked at me as I followed Lestrade out of the forest, and then he was by my side in a minute, his hand dangling dangerously close to my own.

'Me too.' I doubt my reply was adequate, but I seriously wasn't expecting /that/ from a self-proclaimed sociopath.

He smiled. 'There was never a girl, John.'

'You told me.'

Sherlock's head bobbed up and down in a nod. 'It was Moriarty's idea of a 'practical joke'.'

I blinked, then sighed. 'Oh /God/.'

Sherlock began to chuckle. 'Yes.'

'I never thought -'

'No.'

And then we were both laughing and the police officers which were stationed around the forest borders began to stare, but it didn't really matter. We just laughed.

And later, during the taxi ride home, Sherlock dug his phone out of his pocket and showed me the text he'd received from the world's most annoying consulting criminal possibly ever in existence.

It just said, 'April fools! Jimmy x'

And I laughed.


	2. Because, the Beatles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the song Because, by the Beatles. Because AGGGG ITS SO BEAUTIFUL (and I kinda love the Beatles soooo...) :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - I song don't the own.   
> I characters don't own the.
> 
> Sherlock could crack my code... :)

Because, Beatles

John didn't know why, but Sherlock had begun to turn the flat upside-down and now they were going for a walk. 

And they were sitting together. On a bench. Listening to the wind.

.

Sherlock didn't know how, but he had begun to turn the flat upside-down, and John had persuaded him to go for walk. 

And now he and his flat mate were sitting together. On a bench. Dying of boredom. 

Oh help.

.

John noticed Sherlock start to fidget. At first, it was just furtive glances around at anything and everything, and then it became actual bored-child-forced-to-sit-through-boring-family-dinner fidgeting, and finally he was shifting on the bench and tapping his fingers on the wood, and his was moving every which way, and his knee was bopping up and down 100 times a minute and John could /tell/ Sherlock was internally ripping himself to shreds. 

So he sighed. Because he couldn't relax with Sherlock acting like basically the hyperactive Eater bunny on crack. 

In all honesty, who could? 

.

Sherlock was dying. He could tell. His brain was tearing itself apart, and his body was spasming like a dead fish, and his limbs felt like they were convulsing. And he wanted to kill himself. And stab that /stupid/ blackbird that insisted on singing in the background of his mind. 

Glancing at John however, he noticed the crease in between his flatmate's eyes that only appeared when the former was annoyed with Sherlock. He frowned. Why was John annoyed with /him/? 

/He/ wasn't tweeting at the top of his lungs. 

Like that /stupid/...

.

John couldn't bear it any longer. He had come out here to /relax/. He just wanted to focus on the birds and the ducks and the people and the sky and /not/ on Sherlock, on /anything/ but Sherlock. 

So, naturally, he exploded. 

'God, Sherlock!'

And Sherlock jumped, his excited limbs stilling for a moment.

'Can you not be /quiet/ for just /one minute/?'

Sherlock continued to stare. 

'Just /relax/. Take in your surroundings. /Listen/, to /anything/ but /yourself/, because God knows that's what everyone else wants to do, and fuzz out the noises in your brain. And, you know, if it doesn't work in a quarter of an hour, we can just go home.' 

And John shut his eyes and leant back on the bench.

Fine.

.

Sherlock was just the teensiest bit shocked. Because whatever he had expected, it was /not/ that.

And now he couldn't even ask /John/ for advice, because John was leaning back in the (incredibly uncomfortable) bench and /ignoring/ him. 

And to be honest, he had half a mind to make a huge racket for the sole purpose of annoying him.

But saying that ...

Sherlock /did/ wish that he could be as peaceful as John looked now. It would be a nice change. It would. It really would. So, he leant back, let the wind rustle his curls, listened to that /stupid/ LOVELY blackbird and shut his eyes. 

Because John had asked him to. 

And because he wanted, above anything else at that moment, to be peaceful. 

.

When John opened his eyes it was to see Sherlock staring at him with such an intensity that he was almost scared. 

'Uh ... Sherlock?'

Sherlock stared.

'... Why are you looking at me like that?'

The younger looked away. 'Sorry.'

'Are you ... Are you feeling more relaxed?' 

A nod from the world's only consulting detective. A small smile, like chocolate on the lips. A phrase. 'Because the world is round, it turns me on, John.'

'What?' John blinked.

'It's from a song. Because the world is round, it turns me on. And it's true.' 

'I don't understand...'

He could see Sherlock restraining himself from saying something cutting. A sigh. 'Because the wind is high, it blows my mind, do you get that?' 

John shook his head, biting back a smile. 'What are you saying Sherlock?' 

'Appreciation.' And then Sherlock shut his eyes and leant back on the bench. 

John smiled back. Weird. 

.

Sherlock didn't know what had made him do it. He had started reciting the song to tell John thank you, and then he had stopped. So his eyes snapped opened and he sat up. 

'Love is all, love is new. Love is all, love is you.' 

John's eyes visibly widened. It was almost comic. 'Why are you saying that?' 

Sherlock shrugged. 'In the highest platonic way possible, of course.' 

John smiled again, shook his head. 'Yes, Sherlock.' 

'Yes John.'

'Yes.'

.

It was only when they got back to the flat that John actually googled the lyrics to the song Sherlock had been quoting. And, truthfully, he inwardly marvelled at the fact that Sherlock /knew the lyrics/ /to a song/. Because Sherlock Holmes didn't even know the planets in the solar system. Let alone the ins and outs of pop tunes from the 60s. 

'You missed out a line, Sherlock.' 

'What?'

'Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry. You missed it out. Why?' 

'Because, John.'

'What?'

'Because.'

And that was the end of that conversation.

For then.


	3. Celebrate, Kool and the Gang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrate, Kool and the Gang 
> 
> This song is so cheesy you could dip bread in it and call it a fondue :) oh dear ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - ALL NOT MINE LALALALALALALLALALALALALALALALAL :)

Sherlock and John sat in the stands of one of London's many theatres waiting for the Philharmonic Orchestra and fingering leaflets advertising a very 80's looking band which neither John nor Sherlock had any inclination to go and see.  
And then the lights dimmed.

And so began their worst nightmare.

Some very familiar strangers had filtered onto the stage, carrying guitars and trumpets and streamers and people around Sherlock and John began to clap.

But Sherlock and John abstained.

Because these people certainly did not look like London's Philharmonic Orchestra.

And then the drums were hit, and the guitars were strummed and the people around John began to clap in time with the beat, and he realised Sherlock's big mistake.

Turning to face the world's only consulting detective, he saw that the look of horror that was turmoiling inside of him plastered on his flatmates face.

'Yeah-hoo!' And then the people on stage began hooting and the people in the stands began hooting and Sherlock's face was slowly turning red.

John began to giggle.

'It's a celebration!'

Sherlock sank lower into his seat.

'Yeah-hoo! It's a celebration!'

'Oh God. John, I'm sorry, I –'

'Cel-a-brate good times come on!'

And John couldn't stop laughing as Sherlock managed to get out that he had somehow booked the wrong tickets, or they had wandered into the wrong theatre stand and he had made the biggest mistake since he trusted Mycroft with a secret of his ten years ago.

'There's a party going on right here. A celebration to last throughout the year.'

Sherlock was halfway through standing up. John pushed him down. 'We can't leave now.'

'John, I can't –'

'So bring your good times, and you laughter too; we're gonna celebrate your party with you! Come on now!'

'John, it's vomit inducing.'

John sniggered.

People around them had begun to sing along to the chorus now.

'Cel-a-brat-ion! Let's all celebrate and have a good time. Cel-e-bration! Let's all celebrate and have a good time.'

'It's time to come together. It's up to you, what's your pleasure?'

'Everyone around the world, come on!'

John turned to Sherlock. 'Everyone includes you, Sherlock.' Sherlock flushed an even brighter shade of red.

'Yeah-hoo!'

'I'm surrounded by idiots.'

John laughed. 'At least I didn't book the wrong tickets.'

'We could be listening to Shubert now. Mozart. Bach. Not this … not this drivel.'

'It's a celebration!'

'Yeah-hoo! Cel-e-brate good times, come on!'

Sherlock began to stand up again.

'No, Sherlock!'

'We're gonna have a good time tonight! Let's celebrate. It's alright!'

'John, this is only their introduction. They're going to be going on like this all night. I can't just sit here and listen.'

'Sherlock, to the end of this song.' Sherlock eyed his flatmate cautiously. 'Please?'

'Fine.' Sherlock sat back down, folded his arms. He pouted. John giggled.

oOo

After that first song, Sherlock and John tiptoed out of the theatre. Sherlock felt the need to ask the ticket officer which band they had just seen, to which she replied, 'Kool and the Gang,' and smiled suggestively at them both. John couldn't be bothered to protest that they weren't actually gay and Sherlock remained oblivious, so they left hurriedly and hailed a cab to take them back to Baker St.

Once home, Sherlock retired to his room. John just sat down in his chair and read, thinking nothing of it.

oOo

It was a week later that John realised that he recognised the song that Sherlock was learning on the violin. He laughed, but not in front of Sherlock. He didn't want to embarrass him.

oOo

After Sherlock had used his laptop for the hundredth time that month, John decided to look up his search history. He had to repress his smile when he found 17 youtube videos of Kool and the Gang stacking up down the side of his page.

oOo

The envelope felt heavy in his hand. The tickets hadn't been too expensive, but he was doubting that Sherlock's reaction to his birthday present would be a positive one and he really didn't want a replay of last year.

So he'd brought Sherlock a back-up present, just in case.

The lanky detective loped down the stairs to John. John just smiled.

'Happy birthday, Sherlock.'

And he presented the envelope.

Sherlock smiled, ripped it open.

And out fluttered two tickets for Kool and the Gang and 7:00 that night.

And Sherlock smiled wider.

oOo

This time, they weren't the loners, sitting at the back.

They were the loners sitting at the front.

Or John felt like a loner anyway. Next to Sherlock, he certainly was.

Sherlock, who knew all the words and clapped to the beat and danced to the music. Sherlock, who thanked John profusely after, Sherlock who enjoyed the music and enjoyed the band. But John was happy. Because, for once, Sherlock was happy. On his birthday.

And this was a good reason to Celebrate.


End file.
